


These Little Moments

by jargedcoffee



Series: Convin Oneshots and Ficlets [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Connor Deserves Happiness, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jargedcoffee/pseuds/jargedcoffee
Summary: In the span of a year, Connor learns that loving Gavin is made up of the little moments: of comfort, of frustration, of quiet. But underneath it all, each moment tells him the same thing, "It's okay. We're okay."And maybe that's enough.





	These Little Moments

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking another break from writing my long fic, "aftermath (the days after feeling)", and I decided to try out this writing exercise where I write A LOT of one shots exploring different dimensions of what I imagine to be Connor and Gavin's relationship.
> 
> I'm sorry if this is a bit different from how I usually write. I'm trying to adjust to a different writing style, and it's definitely been difficult. Apologies for any awkward phrasings. But do let me know in the comments if it's okay or not!
> 
> And if you want more, I also started posting stuff on my Tumblr, @jargedcoffee. Hit me up on chat or just send me an ask. I'm always open to it. :)

Maybe Connor didn’t understand love at the start.

But he learns it slowly. One month with Gavin, and he learns what the lighthearted moments mean. It happens when he wakes up from stasis, his eyes opening to the sight of the ceiling, Gavin’s arm wrapped around his torso, dotted with sweat because of the summer heat, and their legs all tangled up in each other. Gavin hates waking up, so when Connor moves his arm to get up, he resists, and wraps it tighter around Connor, pulling him further into the heat of his shirtless body. Connor pulls Gavin’s arm away, but he just grips tighter and lets out a low groan.

“Gavin, kindly let me stand up.”

“No. Ten more minutes,” says Gavin, leaning his head further into the android’s neck.

Connor sighs as he stares up at the ceiling. “If I don’t start cooking now, you’re going to wake up hungry, and we both know what that entails.”

“Shhh. No big words when I’m sleeping,” Gavin breathes out, and the air of his breath crawls up Connor’s neck.

“Schadenfreude. Abscond,” says Connor, smiling at himself as Gavin grunts. “Forbearance. Lackadaisical,” he continues, and he imagines Gavin rolling his eyes under his closed eyelids.

“Grandiloquent-“

“You’re a prick.” Gavin says, finally opening his eyes and letting go of Connor, rolling over to the other side to hug his pillow instead.

Connor sits up, proud of himself for accomplishing his directive, but he can’t resist adding in, “I believe the correct phrase is, ‘plastic prick’.”

“Christ, what’s a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here? Why do I even let you in my apartment?”

“Past observations indicate it’s because you like me and you like my cooking.”

Gavin just flips him the bird, but Connor knows it’s a joke - that maybe it’s Gavin’s way of saying _It’s okay. We’re okay._

He learns it slowly. Two months with Gavin, and he learns what the quiet moments mean. Maybe it’s when they sit on the couch in Gavin’s apartment, and Gavin wraps an arm around his shoulders. The warmth presses on Connor, radiating down his back, tingles on his arm because Gavin’s rubbing circles on it with his fingers. That’s the first time Connor yearns to do something he’s only ever seen couples do at the park, wanting to lean his head on Gavin’s shoulder. So he does, thinking it’s the perfect response to Gavin’s affection. When he leans his head, it’s slow and deliberate, anxious and awkward because he’s never done this before. He feels like how he imagines a human child learning how to walk: slowly and steadily, stumbling when Gavin recoils at the touch of his head. His LED circles red, telling him to turn back and sit down, but it fades back into blue when Gavin leans into the touch, his cheek pressing against Connor’s hair.

They stay like that. The moments turn into seconds, then into minutes, then Connor stops counting, because _this_ right here, right now is what matters. Gavin never says it out loud, but perhaps this is another way he says: _It’s okay. We’re okay._

He learns it slowly. Five months with Gavin, and he learns what the loud moments mean in the sound of Gavin’s voice, the fire in his words when he yells, “What in the _fuck_ we’re you thinking charging into the frickin’ perp’s turf like that?” Gavin’s stomping around the apartment, towards the refrigerator where Connor knows he keeps the beer for times like this. He rummages through the refrigerator, cursing when he can’t find the beer, so he makes coffee instead. Connor stands by the open door, unsure of whether it’s safe to enter the apartment. He tries to reason with him, telling him it was okay, that his preconstructions were correct, that he got out alive in the end. But his words are empty air that Gavin doesn’t hear or feel.

When the coffee machine stops whirring, the silence is too loud. Connor doesn’t know what to say, how to stop the loud moment, how to fill the room with the tender quiet of _It’s okay. We’re okay._ Gavin just clicks his tongue, ignoring the finished coffee, hands shaking when he faces Connor and says, “You can’t just do stupid shit without telling me!” Connor wants to say there was no time, that he didn’t want to put Gavin in danger, but he can’t find the words to untangle all the thoughts stringing together in his head, so he just says, “I should go.”

He closes the door behind him, walking down the hallway, doubt about his actions on the case bubbling within. _What could he have done differently? What would’ve he have done if he’d been working with Hank?_ He hears the door click open again, so he looks back, and he sees Gavin walking towards him, saying, “Shit. Fuck, okay.” And suddenly Connor’s turned around and wrapped in an embrace.

It’s quiet again, the silence only broken by Gavin’s shallow breaths and whispers of, “just didn’t want you to get hurt” and “don’t do it again.” Connor swears; he swears he hears an “I’m sorry” in there somewhere, hidden beneath the low whispers, an offering shrouded by the mess of words and the heat of the embrace. It’s quiet again, and Connor understands. Gavin never says it out loud, but this is how he says it: _It’s okay. We’re okay._

He learns it slowly. A year with Gavin and he learns what the boring moments mean, sinking into a routine that starts with Connor knocking on the apartment door. Gavin opens it with a “hey”, an awkward moment where he looks unsure, then a kiss on Connor’s lips. _He’s never sure about doing that,_ Connor thinks as they sit on the couch, turning the TV on to watch whatever show Gavin’s obsessed with right now. Connor finds himself grinning sometimes, when Gavin’s focusing on the TV, complaining and complaining about the stupid plot, the stupid characters, the stupid show he can’t seem to stop watching.

Maybe this is boring, mundane, and utterly the same every time, but when Connor locks his finger’s around Gavin’s, it still feels like the first time. Gavin doesn’t look back in shock anymore when he holds his hand, only showing a red flush in his cheeks as he leans back on the couch to continue his rant. Connor gazes at the man, who doesn’t notice, and sees the way the scar on his nose scrunches up when he talks, the way his forehead creases because the show does something stupid again, the way his lips sink back into a frown while he leans his head on his other hand. It’s always the same - a looping film reel that plays every day, interrupted only by boring dates outside, boring vacations in other states and countries, and boring cases worked together.

Connor just smiles, thinking about what a disaster they were when they first met. He remembers what an asshole Gavin was to him and how they absolutely weren’t _okay_ in the way Connor’s innocence met Gavin’s cynicism. He smiles when he looks back at the TV, because now he knows, even when Gavin doesn’t say it: _It’s okay. We’re okay._ It’s boring, but it’s the best kind - the kind he can work with.

He’s not a human, and he never will be, but he can learn to love. He already has.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that made your day better!
> 
> If you want more, check out my Tumblr, @jargedcoffee. My ask box and chat are always open to anyone.


End file.
